Heaven's Lovers Aren't as Happy as You Are
by IAmTheLamp
Summary: Francis has a secret that often leaves him feeling broken, but he's been overcompensating for years. He's so insistent that nothing is remotely unusual about him that he almost shuts out the only person he knows who can help him. Asexual!France in a college AU, with a bit of fluffy FrUK near the end. Happy Asexual Awareness Week!
1. Chapter 1

An orgasm was, as Francis had been told in conversations about the topic, the greatest feeling that you could ever experience. It felt hot and beautiful and made your eyes flutter like a moth's wings. He described them with the same fervor as anyone else, as though electricity had shot through him at the top of the world, nothing left to overcome, though nothing had ever felt so pleasurable. As it just so happened, he was… Dare he say it…

Bored out of his mind as he moaned in fake pleasure. Sure, it was nice, but not enough to cause this sort of stimulation, to send his eyes rolling back and set his stomach alight. The words of affection spilling out of his mouth could easily have been held back, and he felt nothing for the young woman at his same tender age of twenty-two that had allowed this almost bothersome sensation to move through him as he came, just like he felt nothing for the countless other men, women, and others-un-placeable-for-whatever-reason he had slept with.

He shifted and moved away, a murmured question placed to ask if she would mind if he smoked inside. She did, but her reply came with a smile and a nuzzle into his neck before he got out of the bed and tied off the condom they had used, clothing himself and leaving the apartment to smoke outside in the hall. He took a drag as he pulled his phone out of his jean pocket. Two messages had been received since he had last checked, both from one Arthur Kirkland.

_Did you honestly go home with that bloody girl from civil engineering?_

_I hope you were at least sensible._

_Oui mon cher, because you are always so very sensible._

He puffed the cigarette again as he waited for a response, which came quicker than expected.

_You would know._

_I do ;)_

_If that's supposed to be flirtatious it was pathetic. If it's supposed to be mildly disturbing, then congratulations, fantastic marks._

_Hush, mon chou_

_Dare I ask how it was?_

_As lovely as usual. She's beautiful._

He couldn't bring himself to lie to Arthur, but to tell him how little he enjoyed it? How humdrum coming had always felt to him? No one needed to know that, or how he felt about it. Some days it was fine by him. Other days he felt like he was missing something important. Like he was defunct somehow. Broken because he didn't feel what everyone else seemed to feel.

* * *

Francis' texts are centered and Arthur's are regularly aligned, hope that wasn't too tough to figure out. I did have Francis' right-aligned but FF decided that was a no-go.

I'm also super aware that Francis' experience with sex does not reflect all asexuals' experiences, since I'm asexual myself, and I shockingly enough have two other close ace amis, one with an incredibly high libido and the other mildly sex-repulsed, leaving me somewhere in the middle, I guess somewhere around where I put Francis.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, being from the country that spoke the language primarily, Francis had an advantage above Arthur in their French literature class, leaving them at rather different levels entirely in the class. His beloved _Angleterre _(a nickname which the punk had reluctantly put up with since their first year of uni, when they'd been stuck in a dorm together) had eventually resorted to asking the young Frenchman for help, desperate for the credits in a foreign language. Upon beginning any tutoring, Francis had easily discovered that Mr. Kirkland knew next to nothing about French conversation, much less French literature. So they had started from the bottom up near the beginning of the school year and Arthur was now passing the class by the skin of his teeth with the help of their weekly sessions in the school library.

"Do you want to come with me, are you doing anything?"

"Ou?" Francis asked, well aware that by now even Angleterre knew the word for _where._

"GSA. Gay-Straight Alliance. It's an American sort of scheme, I suppose, but it's not terrible. It's a good idea, really."

"Euh," he shrugged, "I'll pass."

"Really? But you… I mean, you're a regular Casanova. You've got to be all for equality and all that bull."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I… Don't know… I just figured it might be nice, being bisexual and spending time with people like you."

Francis couldn't stop the scoff from moving past his lips. "Bisexuelle."

"You've slept with half the men on campus, you can't tell me now that you're straight. And at least two-thirds of the women, too, so I figured gay was out of the equation."

"Call me whatever you want to, mon chou."

"Well no," Arthur said, pulling his bag off of his shoulder and sitting down again next to the golden blond, who had not moved from his seat. "I'm not just going to slap labels onto anyone just for the hell of it, especially if they're not accurate. Do you have anything that you prefer?"

"Non, Angleterre." Blue eyes rolled easily around to watch the Briton, but green ones under bushy eyebrows mirrored the movement to watch back.

"Pansexual?"

"Whatever you _want, _Arthur." He didn't even know what pansexual _meant, _much less whether he could be defined with it.

"I don't _want_ anything." He replied simply, standing up again with a sigh. "Except maybe to know that there's nothing the matter with you."

Francis leaned back, raising his eyebrows, then stood as well. "I am fantastique," He insisted once more, placing his textbook inside his messenger with the finesse a chef might garnish a dessert with. Equally careful footsteps led him out of the library and away from the questions, and the accusation—though surely Arthur hadn't meant it to come out so cruelly—that he was anything but normal.


	3. Chapter 3

It was not until the next evening, when Francis found himself with his two oldest friends, that he heard from Arthur again, who didn't seem to realize that he'd done anything wrong.

_I have a question for you that no one brought up to me before last night._

_Excuse moi?_

_Well a few questions. Is that alright?_

"Franny, quit staring at your phone and get a drink already."

"Choose something for me…" He responded lazily to the ever-obnoxious Gilbert, whom he loved dearly, but was still obnoxious. Antonio was at least a little sweeter.

_If it's about yesterday then I did tell you that I don't care._

_Perhaps you did. Humour me._

_Later. I have une vivre._

_Fine. Text me when you're done vivre-ing._

By the time Francis at last looked up and slipped his phone away, there was a beer in front of him on the bar and Antonio was playing a guessing game of sorts with Gilbert about his current squeeze.

"At least tell his name, Gil!"

"I might," the albino snickered.

"What's he look like?"

"Like an uptight pianist who squeals like a bitch in bed."

"He plays the piano?" Francis asked, going through his mental registry of people he knew could do so.

"Was, you finally decided to join us?"

"I was just texting a friend."

"We're your friends."

"Another friend." He took a gulp of his beer, then exhaled steadily. It wasn't like he couldn't drink harder liquors than wine, he just preferred not to. He enjoyed the air of class that a glass of wine gave him.

"So Antonio's been with Lovino for… how long, two years?"

"Three," Antonio replied sweetly.

"Alright, and I've had my mystery fellow for… two weeks."

"Just tell us his name, Gilbert!"

"Nah. Anyway, when are you gonna snag someone, Francis? Still sleeping around?"

He shrugged and gave a coy smile. Yes, still sleeping around. Still free. Still searching for something that was actually as good as what everyone else seemed to get. It wasn't fair, that he didn't get to make love like Gilbert or Antonio. They never talked in-depth about it exactly, but they knew the difference between good sex and bad sex. To Francis, essentially all sex was bad sex. He made up if it was any good, for the most part, based a lot on how much effort it seemed like the other person had put in.

"Anyone at least on your mind?" Antonio questioned.

Francis shrugged again, then thought of the punky Briton he had roomed with for an entire year, whom he now only ever saw in class and on Thursday nights in the library. He wouldn't mind that. They fought often, got into petty spats, but there was always that general sense of mutual care between them that he couldn't deny was nice. Safe. "Peut etre… one person. It's nothing serious."

"You, not serious about romancing someone," Gil scoffed, "Uh huh."

"I have not thought very much about it."

"Boy or girl?"

"Perhaps your partner is a boy, but I am interested in a man."

"Shut it, Roddy's as much a man as anyone you can muster up."

"Roddy?" Antonio asked, excited now. "That name is adorable!"

"Dammit. Alright, what's his name then?"

"If you can withhold information, then I can too," Francis told Gilbert with a smirk.

"If you can withhold information and it's 'nothing serious,' then you wouldn't mind going to a club."

"Vraiment, Gilbert, where do you get your logic?"

"Is that a yes?"

"That is a no."

"You're that into the guy that you don't want to pick up some chick at a club? Are you serious?"

"Maybe I'm just not interested in picking anyone up regardless."

"Francis," Antonio inquired, hesitant, "Are you alright?"

"I am fine, I'm just not in the mood to sleep with another person with no point."

The other two were quiet for a moment under the din of the bar, before Gilbert spoke again.

"That…_ is_ the point though. Pointless sex. No strings attached."

"I love Lovino but I do miss having the kind of freedom you have. You could sleep with anyone you're attracted to and not have to think about the consequences."

That made the blond want to squirm, and he couldn't explain why for the life of him. "Who says anyone is even attractive?"

"Uh, normal people?" Gilbert blurted back. "Roderick's hot as fuck. So am I. Gott, Francis."

"Are you sure you are okay?" Antonio asked again.

"Non," Francis lied blatantly. "I should go home. I am terribly sorry to have troubled you both to come out with me." He was a bad liar, but he didn't care at this point. He wanted to ignore the implication that he was abnormal.

"Do… Do you want a ride?"

"I live just a few blocks away; I'll walk." He told them curtly. "I need the air. Merci."

He was already leaving before his friends had the chance to say goodbye.


	4. Chapter 4

Ironic, that he had claimed the need for air when he was so comfortable filling his lungs with smoke. It was cold, and the heat of the cinders on the end of the stick warmed his face ever so slightly as he made his way back to his own apartment. His phone beeped, but he ignored it at first, focusing on the sensation of hot air rushing through his lungs and out, the nicotine better than any feeling sex had ever given him. He waited until he was halfway home to pull out the device, which beeped angrily at him again. One text from Antonio.

_Get some rest! 3_

And the newer from Arthur again.

_You never mentioned when your vivre-ing would be done._

_It's done now, I am going home._

_So early?_

_I have no comments._

_Right. So those questions._

_I told you that I do not care what you call me._

_And I told you to humour me._

_You are going to fight with me about my own sexuality. Mon Angleterre, how thirsty for an argument are you?_

_I'm not argumentative at all!_

_That is about as true as you being a five star chef._

_Shut it, will you? Can I ask the questions or not?_

_I suppose you may._

_Who are you attracted to?_

_Define that_

_Define what?_

_Attracted_

_What do you mean, define attracted?_

_Your anglais is better than mine. Figure it out?_

_Fine, you miserable frog. Sexual attraction. Who do you look at and purely based on looks want to have sex with?_

_I make love to people based on looks all the time._

_That doesn't answer the question._

_Does it not?_

_No. Just because you sleep with someone doesn't mean you're attracted to them._

_And they are not the same thing… Parce que?_

_Well like, prostitutes aren't attracted to the people they have sex with._

…

_I'm a prostitute._

_No!_

_Not that there is anything wrong with that._

_It was just an example you git. Who do you look at and feel the need to sleep with?_

_Tu ;)_

_Is that the best you can do?_

He smiled as he slid the key into the lock to the door of his flat. Anything to mess with his Angleterre, but this was at heart a serious conversation, and he knew how to respect that.

_I don't NEED to make love to anyone. I do it because I enjoy it._

The latter was a lie as thick as concrete, but such came a little easier through text message than through speech.

_You've never had that urge and given into it or had to resist it?_

_That sounds ridiculous, Arthur._

_Maybe to you it does, but to most it's a normal part of post-pubescent life._

Francis set his phone down beside him on his bed, unsure of what to say. He picked it up to respond, but then put it down again. He reread the message, then pushed the device away once more. Normal part of life…? He had spent so long trying to force himself into normalcy, but had he been missing something all along? Had he wasted his time? He plucked the phone up from beside him again.

_Can you come over?_

_It's 9:30._

_Can you come over?_

_I have work due Monday._

_Can you come over?_

_Bloody hell you're persistent. I'll be over in five…_


	5. Chapter 5

True to his word, Arthur arrived at the building about five minutes later wearing an oversized band t-shirt and plaid red jeans, a casual lax outfit for his casual lax Friday night.

"You rang?"

Francis froze for a moment, unsure of what to say before he simply moved aside to let the Briton in.

"Everything alright?"

"Ehm..." He remained paused. Was everything alright?

Could he force himself maybe? To crave sex like any normal person? In the instant after that question crossed his mind, he was practically on top of Arthur, pressing cold, now-nervous lips against paler ones that had never seen the sunlight of a summer in Paris.

He didn't mind this. He liked this, even, the feel of his Arthur's breath catching in his throat before he could relax into the kiss. But before long Francis was pushed away.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked him softly, hands slipping away from the taller.

"Foreplay," he said with a smirk. The response was a reflex. He didn't want to sleep with him. He didn't want to sleep with anyone.

"But you're not actually attracted to me?" he questioned back carefully.

"Why should that matter?" Francis gesticulated purposelessly, the perfect 'who cares' message moving through his hands. He cared, though. Perhaps Arthur did, too.

"I'm not sure if I'm interested in what foreplay leads to if you're not actually interested in me."

"I am interested," Francis insisted, taking a step closer, but Arthur took a step backward.

"In me. Sexually. You specifically want to have sex with me."

He stayed quiet, no response able to grace his vocal cords properly in order to reply. He could perhaps see himself involved with the Briton, but he didn't _want to _per se. He could kiss him until the sun rose, but that was as much as they needed to do, if that was enough for Arthur. But it was never enough for anyone. Anyone but Francis himself.

"I think you're asexual."

It was said strictly sans-judgment, but still he didn't like the sound. Asexual. Like an amoeba? He was human.

"Pardon me?"

"Asexual. You aren't sexually attracted to anyone. Do you remember Matthew Williams?"

"…Yes?" He quite vividly remembered the boy who had started at their school with his twin brother last year, but he had no idea what the boy could have to do with amoeba.

"He's in the GSA. Says asexuals are less than one percent of the population."

"I have had sex, I cannot-"

"I mentioned already, you don't have to be sexually attracted to anyone to just bang them. If you didn't even know what attraction _was, _Francis…"

"Arretez."

"Why?"

"Parce que." He turned to move away.

"I'm trying to tell you that you're not alone, and you want to walk away from me?" Arthur followed after, exasperated.

"I'm normal," he insisted, turning around again to face the shorter.

"Being asexual _is _normal, if rare. Diamonds happen normally too, naturally, and no one tries to force them to be coals."

Francis narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. Arthur did have a point… "Okay," he replied slowly, deliberately. "Say I am. So what?"

"I… don't know… Just know the word for it when people ask?"

"I don't want to be asexual."

Arthur scoffed, raising thick eyebrows. "I don't want to be gay, but it's not exactly a choice, is it." He crossed his arms, looking almost hurt.

"You are still normal."

"Normal?" he scoffed again. "What the bloody hell is normal? My trousers are _tartan._"

"Yes. They are… garish, to say the least."

"I really didn't ask for your opinion… I was just saying that normal is really subjective. It's on a case-by-case basis."

"I suppose… I am sorry, making you bother to come over."

"Oh I don't care," the Briton rolled his eyes and waved his hand in dismissal. "It's this or French literature work."

"Do you wish to stay the night? My bed is large enough for the both of us."

"Sure, I suppose. Why not?"


	6. Chapter 6

True to his word, Arthur arrived at the building about five minutes later wearing an oversized band t-shirt and plaid red jeans, a casual lax outfit for his casual lax Friday night.

"You rang?"

Francis froze for a moment, unsure of what to say before he simply moved aside to let the Briton in.

"Everything alright?"

"Ehm..." He remained paused. Was everything alright?

Could he force himself maybe? To crave sex like any normal person? In the instant after that question crossed his mind, he was practically on top of Arthur, pressing cold, now-nervous lips against paler ones that had never seen the sunlight of a summer in Paris.

He didn't mind this. He liked this, even, the feel of his Arthur's breath catching in his throat before he could relax into the kiss. But before long Francis was pushed away.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked him softly, hands slipping away from the taller.

"Foreplay," he said with a smirk. The response was a reflex. He didn't want to sleep with him. He didn't want to sleep with anyone.

"But you're not actually attracted to me?" he questioned back carefully.

"Why should that matter?" Francis gesticulated purposelessly, the perfect 'who cares' message moving through his hands. He cared, though. Perhaps Arthur did, too.

"I'm not sure if I'm interested in what foreplay leads to if you're not actually interested in me."

"I am interested," Francis insisted, taking a step closer, but Arthur took a step backward.

"In me. Sexually. You specifically want to have sex with me."

He stayed quiet, no response able to grace his vocal cords properly in order to reply. He could perhaps see himself involved with the Briton, but he didn't _want to _per se. He could kiss him until the sun rose, but that was as much as they needed to do, if that was enough for Arthur. But it was never enough for anyone. Anyone but Francis himself.

"I think you're asexual."

It was said strictly sans-judgment, but still he didn't like the sound. Asexual. Like an amoeba? He was human.

"Pardon me?"

"Asexual. You aren't sexually attracted to anyone. Do you remember Matthew Williams?"

"…Yes?" He quite vividly remembered the boy who had started at their school with his twin brother last year, but he had no idea what the boy could have to do with amoeba.

"He's in the GSA. Says asexuals are less than one percent of the population."

"I have had sex, I cannot-"

"I mentioned already, you don't have to be sexually attracted to anyone to just bang them. If you didn't even know what attraction _was, _Francis…"

"Arretez."

"Why?"

"Parce que." He turned to move away.

"I'm trying to tell you that you're not alone, and you want to walk away from me?" Arthur followed after, exasperated.

"I'm normal," he insisted, turning around again to face the shorter.

"Being asexual _is _normal, if rare. Diamonds happen normally too, naturally, and no one tries to force them to be coals."

Francis narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. Arthur did have a point… "Okay," he replied slowly, deliberately. "Say I am. So what?"

"I… don't know… Just know the word for it when people ask?"

"I don't want to be asexual."

Arthur scoffed, raising thick eyebrows. "I don't want to be gay, but it's not exactly a choice, is it." He crossed his arms, looking almost hurt.

"You are still normal."

"Normal?" he scoffed again. "What the bloody hell is normal? My trousers are _tartan._"

"Yes. They are… garish, to say the least."

"I really didn't ask for your opinion… I was just saying that normal is really subjective. It's on a case-by-case basis."

"I suppose… I am sorry, making you bother to come over."

"Oh I don't care," the Briton rolled his eyes and waved his hand in dismissal. "It's this or French literature work."

"Do you wish to stay the night? My bed is large enough for the both of us."

"Sure, I suppose. Why not?"


	7. Chapter 7

Aforementioned tartan trousers had been stripped off before bed, and Francis woke up Saturday morning to a curled up blond tucking his head toward the Frenchman's chest. He smiled carefully, as though the sound of his lips moving would wake him, and stayed there for a few minutes, listening to each heavy breath that moved out of Arthur's lungs.

Upon recalling the previous night's events, he started to feel sick, but he was somehow soothed by the thought that this was the first time in a long time that he had slept with someone without _sleeping _with them, and that was… nice, he decided. He moved slowly out of the bed so as not to disturb the figure under the blankets, then moved to the kitchen. He wasn't sure what exactly he was going to make, but it was better than anything Arthur would attempt. Poor thing actually thought he was good at cooking sometimes. At least he could make a good cup of tea.

The Briton ended up walking in on Francis toasting bread and poaching eggs, poking around in the hot water to see if they were done yet.

"Morning," Arthur mumbled.

"Bon matin."

"Ugh, don't speak Frog to me this early in the morning."

"It is not that early."

"I normally sleep 'til noon on Saturday."

Francis hummed and moved as the toast popped to put it on a plate, then fished the eggs out of the boiling water with a large spoon and handed the breakfast to the Briton.

"Thank you… Have you thought at all about last night?"

He shook his head, no. He had been trying to distract himself from the prospect all morning.

"Do you want to?"

"Not really. I need to, I know."

"Do you care to talk about it?"

"There isn't much to talk about…"

"Well how about coming out? Is that something you want to do?"

He sighed more roughly than his tone normally gave. "I have never done so. It was never a question."

"Everyone always assumed that you were interested in both?"

Francis nodded, waiting for his own toast and egg.

"That's sort of lucky."

"Why?"

"Well you don't have to have any awful coming out story, like-" Arthur grimaced, "Well, like mine."

"You never told me."

"Er, there's a reason behind that, mate. It wasn't exactly dandy. 'M fairly sure the only reason I survived it was because I have four brothers who _could _manage a girl, so they were alright with one mistake…"

The awkward silence following was suddenly filled by the sound of Francis' toast popping up. He cracked some pepper over it before sitting next to Arthur. "I am sorry," he murmured, placing a hand over the other's.

Arthur shook his head. "Don't be. I sort of expected it and it's not like they beat me or anything. Well, not my parents. My older brother did a bit, but that was normal anyway, and I could handle him." He gave a weak shrug.

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen. Angus was seventeen." Angus, Francis knew, was the eldest Kirkland brother, the others being the twins Aiden and Artan, and the youngest, Arawn. Their parents had a fondness for the letter A, it seemed. Angus was quite a lot like Arthur, from what Francis knew, though with an unexplained hatred for his younger brother.

"What did they all say?"

"Well." he choked back a laugh at the memory despite its negativity. "My mum's Catholic, so. That went well. She sort of tried to talk me out of it, as though I had picked hell over her or something. Dad's Protestant, and I think that was worse… He yelled for a while and I just…" he shook his head "stood there. What are you supposed to do, y'know?"

"I hope that my experience will be better…"

"Oh, it will be. I don't have doubts on that. You'll face confusion mostly. People know about gay. They don't know about asexual. I do have a question for you though, if you don't mind answering."

"Hm?"

"Well it's just… I can't even imagine sleeping with a woman, much less enjoying it. How do you enjoy it with people you're not attracted to?"

"I don't," he admitted, blinking.

"At all?"

Francis shook his head, the truth setting him free. "I have been waiting for someone to make it good, but it never is."

"Do you think you could ever enjoy it?"

"I have given up, I believe."

"What if you were emotionally invested in the person? Has that ever happened?"

"Once or twice. Nothing significant."

"Wait, you've been interested in someone once or twice, or slept with someone you were interested in once or twice?"

"The first."

"Whom with?"

He leaned forward. "Tu, mon Angleterre."

Arthur leaned away to compensate for the lost distance, his face red. "You're still coming onto me even after admitting you don't want sex?"

Francis dropped the smirk from his lips, tilting his head into one hand. "I am serious."

"O-oh. Damn."

"Quoi?"

"Well I don't separate sexual and romantic attraction. They just sort of happen at the same time."

He allowed himself to ponder the phrasing for a moment before he understood what Arthur meant. "You want to sleep with me?"

"I have for a long time…"

"I would be happy to for you."

"Don't be bloody ridiculous, I'm not going to sleep with you if you won't enjoy it; that's half the point."

"It is?"

"For me, it is."

"Then I can't give you what you want," Francis said with a frown.

"To be quite frank, I'd rather have you sans-sex than not have you at all."

"Is that okay?"

"It is with you?"

"Yes…"

"Then yes."

* * *

_Gilbert._

_francis_

_I have something to tell you_

_spit it out then_

_I'm asexual_

_youre what?_

_I am not sexually attracted to anyone and I never have been._

_are you still sick_

_I was never sick._

_how can you not want sex_

_I just don't and I'm not going to keep lying to myself._

_youre throwing off how great i am with this vague concern_

_Don't be concerned. I'm fine._

_okay whatever then_

_Antonio?_

_Hello! I hope you're feeling better! 3_

_Yes. I am also asexual._

_I thought you were interested in someone!_

_Apparently that is still possible. I may be with that someone now._

_Okay! Have fun amigo! :D_


End file.
